I've Come Too Far and Can't Get Home
by kate-dammit-run
Summary: Red. All she could see was red. Red seeping between her fingers where her hands pressed against his chest. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, thumping in her ears and she could feel his slowly fading, his heartbeat slowing, disappearing under her fingers.


I've been struggling with this for a while but I just had to write it and it might be shit but I guess am posting it anyway. Enjoy?

* * *

 _Tell me you'll be fine_

 _And after everything we'll be standing strong_

 _Just take a breath and move along_

 _If you slip and slide trip or fall_

 _You're not the only one_

 _Wish you'd never played with guns_

 _~ Play With Guns [Seafret]_

* * *

 **1**

Red. All she could see was red. Red seeping between her fingers where her hands pressed against his chest. She needed more hands. Three bullet wounds. Not enough hands. Focus on the ones in his chest, she reminded herself. There was chaos around her. Reade and Zapata, Patterson in her ear. But all she could see was red. She pressed harder, begging the bleeding to stop, but red still oozed through her fingers. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, thumping in her ears and she could feel his slowly fading, his heartbeat slowing, disappearing under her fingers.

 **Six Hours Earlier**

"And this tattoo here," Patterson said as she pointed to one of her screens, "it's been bugging me for days, until I did this," she explains as she rotated the image ninety degrees.

"It's the periodic table," Reade chimed in.

"Exactly!" Patterson said.

"But it looks kinda weird," Zapata said.

"Yes, and that's because some of the elements are missing," Patteson said, typing into her keyboard to highlight missing squares.

"So what does it all mean?" Mayfair asked, always looking for the conclusion rather than the introduction.

"Well, I tried different…" Patterson started but the look on Mayfair''s face told her to wrap it up, "it leads to a longitude and latitude." On the next screen, an aerial image popped up.

"What is it?" Weller asked.

"Abandoned industrial compound," Patterson said, "hasn't been used in over fifteen years. It used to be for cement and building material production."

"And now?" Weller followed up.

"Nothing, absolutely abandoned for fifteen years," Patterson shrugged.

"Then why is it on my body?" Jane asked.

"I don't know," Patterson said.

"Let's check it out," Weller said.

"I'll talk to local authorities," Mayfair said, "wheels up in thirty."

 **2**

Zapata was the first to react. Her back had been to the shooter but she'd her the three shots and saw Weller drop right in front of her. Half a step to her left and she would have been the one to be hitting the floor. She spun around quickly, side arm raised, her instinct taking over, her training leading her. Agent Tasha Zapata was the most perfect combination of instinct and training. Some agents had the instinct but lacked in the training, whereas others scored perfect scores on their training but always seemed to lack that extra little thing that would set them apart. But not Zapata. She had it all, and the attitude to go with it.

All it took was a fraction of a second, but the shooter was down, incapacitated. She didn't kill him, of course. One shot to his gun holding hand, and another to his knee, and the shooter was down. She ran to him, cuffs in hand and found him on the ground, screaming in pain. It was a kid. Just a _kid._

What the hell was going on here?

 **One Hour Earlier**

A four hour flight and an hour drive later, the team was on site. And it was pretty much like Patterson described it. Abandoned. According to the local sherif, kids sometimes went there on dares, but the drive was too long and unfriendly that those didn't happen too often.

They'd split up, Reade and Jane covering one part, Zapata and Weller the other.

"So you and Jane, huh?" Zapata said as they made their way through another abandoned storage space. She knew the older agent wouldn't answer that, but she had to admit, the teasing was fun. That, and she needed to know because she couldn't wait to get those fifty dollars from Reade. Weller turned to her, for just the briefest moment, and even though he had that stern, no nonsense Kurt Weller look on his face, she saw the one beneath it, the face of a teenager being teased by his friends about his first crush. Zapata loved it.

"Will you focus, please?" He said, his voice taking an extra thick tone and she laughed.

"Oh, come on," she teased, "we're not in middle school. It's ok to admit you like your classmate."

Weller mumbled something under his breath and kept going, searching through the empty building.

"You know you can talk to me, Kurt," Zapata continued, knowing quite well she was reaching the limit, but enjoying teasing the superior agent too much to stop, "anytime, I'm here for you."

Weller shook his head. Why _did_ he pick to pair up with Zapata? "Reade. Jane. You guys got anything?" he asked the rest of the team, trying anything to get Zapata to stop talking.

"Nothing here," Jane replied.

"Ok. We've got one more building left. Let's finish up and meet back by the compound entrance," Weller said.

"Ok." Jane replied.

"You sweet talker, you," he heard Zapata tease from behind him and he could not wait to be back on a plane and back to New York.

 **3**

Reade was the farthest from the location when the bullets rang deafeningly in the compound. He spun around quickly, just in time to see Weller's body slump and fall onto the ground. And then he ran, faster than he's ever run. Jane a few strides ahead of him went to ground immediately, hovering over Weller. And Zapata, of course, had taken the shooter down and for a brief second Reade froze. He knew Tasha had the shooter situation under control. He knew Jane had reached Weller. And he knew he had to do something. Patterson's voice in his ear brought him back. _What happened? Guys! What happened?_ He has to call this in! He fills Patterson in. They need medics. He was standing over Jane and Weller then when Patterson informed him the medics were thirty minutes out. He looked at Weller, he looked down at the bullet wounds. The blood. So much blood. They didn't have thirty minutes.

He knelt down next to Jane, wordlessly urging her to give him space to help. He pressed down on one of the wounds and her hand instinctually flew to Weller's face. Weller's face, pale, very pale, eyes struggling to remain open.

 **Four Hours Earlier**

Reade and Weller sat across from each other on the plane as they studied the schematics of the compound.

"This here would be a perfect place to hide anything if you wanted hidden forever," Reade pointed to a place on the plan and Weller nodded. "Any idea what this could be?"

Weller shook his head, taking his eyes off the plan for a moment, glancing over Reade's shoulder to where Zapata and Jane sat. Ready looked over his shoulder. Jane had a heavy book in her hand, reading through it intently.

"What is she reading?" Ready asked, not recognising the book in her hands.

Weller let out a short laugh. "It's the manual to this aircraft," he said, "well, part one of the manual."

"You're kidding," Reade said.

Weller kept his eyes fixed on Jane for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's about being on control. She's lost all control on her life, everything that has happened to her, so now she needs to be, to control every situation to avoid that happening again. She feels… she at least needs to know the situation she is in if she cannot control it at least be aware of what's happening," Weller explained.

"I'm surprised she hasn't convinced Mayfair to let her _fly_ the plane," Reade joked.

Weller laughed at that and turned back to him, "you never know. There's always the next case."

 **4**

Patterson hated being in these situations. Granted, she wasn't a field agent, but she felt so helpless whenever something like that happened. Just being on the other end of the comms felt so useless, so helpless. She was still a part of the team but all she could do was sit there and listen as they went through all that. She hated to push them for updates when she knew what sort of chaos they were dealing with. But she needed to know, this was her team after all. Her _friends._ She wasn't ready to lose someone else. Not again.

Tasha was quick with the updates on the shooter. She'd sent her a picture almost immediately, hoping to ID him as soon as possible. Ready was giving her updates on Weller's condition. It was bad. And a part of her was wishing that he wouldn't tell her.

But Jane… Jane was quiet, too quiet. Patterson knew Jane was not necessarily the most talkative of people, but she had not said a word to her since the shooting. Had she been shot as well? No, of course Reade and Tasha would have said something about that. Jane being so quiet scared Patterson more than all the updates from Reade and Tasha. And she hated feeling so helpless.

 **Two Hours Earlier**

The drive to the compound was not the easiest, as they'd been warned by the locals. It was a series of long and narrow winding mountain roads, mostly unpaved, nature taking its toll on it and calming it as its own.

"Hey Patterson?" Tasha spoke into her comms.

"Yep?" Patterson's voice came in.

"I've got an idea for you," Tasha replied.

"What is it?"

"How about the next time you find an address or a geographical location on that treasure map, you pick a location that's not the road to Hedes?" Tasha teased, earning a laugh from Reade, who had been tasked with actually driving on that road.

"That bad, huh?" Patterson asked.

"Oh, no, it's lovely," Reade replied, "I mean, the FBI loves it when we wreck their cars."

"I swear, if the next one isn't some nice sunny beach location, I am setting Internet Explorer as the default browser on every computer in your lab," Tasha replied.

"You wouldn't!" Patterson laughed.

"Oh, I would, my friend, I would," Tasha said.

 **5**

Jane was not quite aware of what was happening around her. The shooter, Zapata, Reade. _Panic._ This was what panic must feel like. Complete loss of control.

She was aware of only one thing. Weller had been shot. Weller was on the ground. Weller was bleeding out. He might not make it.

Kurt might not make it.

She was grateful for Reade when he got to her side, when he took over putting pressure on one of the gun shot wounds because she couldn't do it anymore. "I've got this," she heard him say, followed by "Tasha! The kit from the car!"

She moved, giving him some space. Her blood coated hand went to Kurt's face, drained of color, her other stayed on his chest, over his heart, heart beat faint, too faint. The heart beat that once helped her stay calm, she searched for it, she needed it now more than ever before.

She touched his cheek, turning his face gently to meet his eyes. She gasped. Light was fading out of his usually bright blues as fast as his heart beat was slowing down. She pressed her thumb against his skin.

"Kurt," she finally said, leaning into him. His eyes fluttered, struggled to find hers. "Kurt, please, stay with me," she pleaded with him. He blinked and tried to nod, but it was too hard, his head too heavy, everything felt so heavy. He tried to lift his head up, to look at where he'd been shot. But he couldn't do that either, the slight shift sending a bolt of excruciating pain through his body.

"Hey, hey, don't," Jane spoke gently, her fingers soft and tender against his cheek, his skin too cold under her touch, "just stay with me, okay?" she said as his tired eyes found hers again and fluttered, "please," she added in a sob.

Kurt fought against the urge to close his eyes, following her voice, and found her eyes, swollen with unshed tears, "Jane," he managed to whisper, before finally succumbing to need to let go.

"No! No! Kurt wake up!" Jane cried, she turned to Reade, tears streaming down her face, and his face was just as scared as she was.

"Patterson! Patterson where the hell are those paramedics!?" he yelled, with the three of them now hovered over the fallen agent.

 **6**

It was another fifteen minutes before a chopper could be heard overhead.

Jane was still over Kurt, her hands pressed against his chest, attempting compressions.

"Jane! Jane!" It was Reade's voice, "the medics are here!" It was then that she noticed the two paramedics behind her thing to take over. Ready grabbed her arm and helped her up as the paramedics took over. Back on her feet for the first time since she went running towards Weller, Jane finally took a deep breath. The three agents stood helplessly watching as Weller got placed on a stretcher and hauled towards the chopper.

"I'm coming with you," Jane said as she rushed towards the chopper.

"Sorry, ma'am, but you can't do that," replied one of the medics.

"What? No, I'm coming," she insisted, trying to get past him.

"No, ma'am you really can't," he said again.

Zapata came up to her, placing her hand on her shoulder, "Hey, Jane, let them go, we'll be right behind them in the car," she said.

"We won't make it on time, Tasha please, I need to… I have to…" Jane said.

Jane looked over the medic's shoulder into the chopper where Kurt lay, unconscious, blood soaking his clothes. She just couldn't leave him. She had to be with him. Before she knew it, Zapata was pulling her back and the medic was getting into the chopper. She fought against the agent's hold on her, but Zapata was too strong. She felt her hold on her tighten, her voice steady and comforting, "I'm sorry, Jane, I'm so sorry."

 **7**

Mayfair stood stoically right by the door they were not allowed to go beyond. Phone in hand, relentlessly taking and making calls, her voice somber and unwavering.

Patterson sat on one of the chairs, her back to the door, she never stopped shaking her legs or twisting her hands in her lap.

Reade sat across from her, eyes fixed at the door. He sat perfectly still, never blinking once.

Zapata switched between pacing up and down the corridor, sitting agitatedly and muttering her annoyance that it had been over three hours and no one had told them anything.

Jane stood by one of the windows, staring out into the gloomy, stormy night. She closed her eyes and repeated those last moments over and over again. Kurt's face going pale, his blue eyes fading out, his heart beat disappearing under her fingers. And blood. So much blood. And his voice, raspy, choked, as he whispered her name.

She was still standing there when she heard voices behind her, breaking the thick silence that had wrapped around them in the last few hours. She turned around and felt the heaviness in her heart multiply. It was Sarah. Scared, panicked and confused, obviously woken up at this late hour and told about her brother, rushed to the hospital by an FBI detail. Mayfair explained the situation to her as jane watched from afar. Somehow Sarah managed to remain calm, terrified but calm. She shook her head quietly as Mayfair explained the situation and then turned around and silently acknowledged the team. She looked at Patterson, Reade and Zapata before turning to find Jane.

She couldn't look her in the eye. Jane just couldn't. It was her fault Kurt was in there, barely hanging on. It was a tattoo on _her_ body that led them there, a tattoo she placed. She was so angry. She felt so guilty. The boy who had shot him was in the operating room next to him and if it wasn't for Mayfair's orders to wait until after his surgery to interrogate him, Jane would be in there right now. But it wasn't his fault, not entirely. It was hers and she couldn't face his sister right now. But there she was, crossing the waiting area and coming towards her. And Jane had no where to run.

Her brain went into over drive, trying to find the right thing to say, the proper way to apologise, to beg for Sarah's forgiveness. But when the other woman reached her, she gave her no chance to say anything. She promptly wrapped her arms around her, hugged her tightly, and started crying.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Sarah asked as she sobbed.

 _I don't know. I don't know. I'm so sorry._

Jane knew that was not what Sarah needed to her. "Yes, he is," the words came out far more confident than what she felt. Sarah tightened her grip on her and Jane felt her own tears give way. She held on to Sarah, just as tightly, and they stood there, silently comforting each other.

 **8**

"He lost a lot of blood."

The surgeon stood surrounded by the team and Sarah as she tried to explain the situation.

"We managed to get the bullets out, and no major organ was hit, but he did lose a lot of blood," she said.

"He's okay though, right?" Zapata said, wanting desperately for the doctor to just get to it.

"We need to monitor him now, he's still unconsc-"

"But he's going to be okay. He's going to wake up," Zapata said again, her temper rising.

"He should be, yes, but we can't tell as of now," the surgeon explained calmly.

"What's that supposed to mean? Just tell us," Zapata said.

"Agent Zapata," Mayfair finally interjected, her voice stern yet gentle.

Tasha took a step away, hands on her waist as she tried to calm down.

"What about the boy?" Ready asked.

"He's also out of surgery. He's fine, nothing major. Should be awake in a few minutes," the surgeon said.

"We're going in," Reade said, not waiting for Mayfair's orders to interrogate the shooter, "Tash, you up for it."

Tasha turned to him and nodded. The bastard's going to talk no matter what it takes.

"Can we see him? Kurt?" Sarah asked.

"He's not awake now, but I think it's okay to have just one person in there," the doctor said and the team turned to Sarah, as his family she deserved to be the one to be in there with him.

"Thanks," she whispered and took one step to follow the doctor.

She suddenly stopped and turned around. She looked to Jane.

"Jane?" she said, "can you come with me?"

Jane was taken aback for a brief moment then nodded, stepping forward to join the distraught Sarah. The doctor looked at them and knew not to argue.

"You guys ready?" she asked.

Jane looked at Sarah who was staring in front of her. She waited for the other woman's response and it came in the way she least expected. She felt Sarah grab her hand tightly, squeezing it for dear life. Jane turned back to the doctor and nodded.

 **9**

The room was shrouded with a thick heavy silence, occasionally interrupted by the beeping of the heart monitor, reassuring them constantly that so far, everything was okay.

Sarah stood by the Kurt's bed, her hand holding on to his, with Jane a few steps behind her. Jane's gaze was focused on Kurt's face. His eyes closed, colour starting to return to his skin, it was terribly unsettling watching him like this still. Unconscious. tubes and wires everywhere. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be there, always. And Jane realised that the moment she needed him most was the moment when he wasn't there.

"You know, Kurt got arrested once when he was ten," Sarah's voice came trembling through the silence.

"What?" Jane asked, stepping slightly closer to her.

"When he was ten," Sarah said again, "we were playing in the back yard, me and Kurt and Taylor," Sarah went on, careful to refer to Taylor as Taylor, "and he and Taylor were climbing a tree. She fell and got a nasty cut on the back of her neck," Sarah said, unaware of Jane reaching to touch the scar on the back of her neck. "It was really bad, blood everywhere. But for some reason I was the only one to freak out," Sarah admitted with a slight chuckle. "Kurt didn't freak out, of course. He checked on it and then ran int the house, grabbed a clean towel and came back out. He handed it to me and told me to put pressure on it, to stop the bleeding. But I was a mess. The sight of blood freaked the hell out of me and the idea of going anywhere near that made me faint. So Taylor took it, she was so brave, and applied the pressure herself."

Sarah turned to Jane and smiled, "and then Kurt decided it was going to need stitches, that they needed to get to the hospital, and his way of doing that was to drive there. My idiot ten year old brother actually drove all three of us to the hospital."

" _Idiot,"_ Sarah whispered as she squeezed his hand tightly in hers, wiping away her tears with the other.

 **10**

His eyelids felt heavy, so heavy, his mouth dry and his head lost in a thick fog, but the sun was warm as it his his face. It was a struggle at first but he finally managed to force his eyes open. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Everything felt so groggy. He looked around him, trying to place himself. It didn't take him long to recognise the familiar scent of a hospital room. He turned slightly, everything hurt as he tried to adjust himself into a seated position. His right hand felt numb from the IV needle. But his left hand didn't. his left hand felt comfortable, warm. He looked down and saw the reason why. A smaller hand sat wrapped around it. he looked up and saw her. Jane. She was sitting in a chair by his bed, curled up in what seemed like a very uncomfortable position. One hand holding his, the other under her cheek, her eyes closed.

He gave her hand a soft squeeze and her eyes shot open.

"Hi," he said, his voice thick and dry, but it didn't matter, none of it did, when she gave him the widest smile he had ever seen.

"Hi," she replied in a whisper, immediately sitting up and moving closer to him. "How are you feeling?"

"I was shot," he deadpanned, and she could not help but smile. "Yeah, you were," she replied.

"Did we get him?" he asked.

"We did," she replied.

"Good."

He looked around the room, his face scrunching slightly. "What's with the balloons?" he asked once he noticed the dozen colourful balloons around the room.

"Patterson's idea," Jane admitted, "she said the room felt so sterile."

"It's a hospital. It's supposed to be sterile," he replied.

"That's what Zapata said," Jane replied. "You also have these," she said, showing him a stack of papers by his bedside.

"What are these?" he asked, craning his neck to take a look.

With her free hand, she grabbed them and held them up. "Sawyer drew you a picture for every day you were in here," she said and he smiled at that, genuinely.

They were silent for a moment. She knew at some point she had to call in a doctor, but for now, she needed this. She felt him twist his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers.

"Thank you," he said and she raised an eyebrow. Why was he thanking her? If anything, him getting shot was her fault.

"I remember, what you did when I got shot… thank you," he said and gave her hand a squeeze.

Silence fell around them again and she brought her chair closer to his bed.

"You scared me," she admitted, her voice a trembling whisper.

"I'm sorry," he replied, locking his gaze with hers.

"I can't do this without you, Kurt," she said, "I can't."

"I'm sorry."

"I need you."

"I'm right here."

"Don't leave me."

"I'm right here."

She leaned in, and he pushed up as much as he could. She rested her forehead against his, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, his stubble had grown to full beard. She closed her eyes and sighed. His breath warm against her skin, his heart beat finally back to where she needs it to be, back to play a steady rhythm to keep her sane.

* * *

Ok, ok, I know that ended in such a weird place. But I don't know why this whole thing was so hard to write. I hope it wasn't absolute shit. But if it was, don't forget to drop me a review and let me know.


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